


Reflections - Past and Present

by DustyP



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:45:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/DustyP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's first day at the Cascade Police Station</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections - Past and Present

In the Mens' Rest room, Blair Sandburg, looked down at the specimen cup in his hands, a rueful expression on his face.

 Why the heck hadn't he gone to get his credentials first... then he would've had no problem in giving the damn sample ... maybe if he ran the tap, it would help.

 Drugs!  Blair snorted ... just because he was a grad student, had long hair, wore colourful, comfortable clothes and sported an earring - everyone in the Police Station would think he was doing drugs.

If only they knew...

Blair wouldn't voluntarily touch any modern, manufactured drugs, and definitely not any kind that would cause addiction. He did not like the thought of losing control of his own mind or actions; he'd never participated even when some of his fellow students, had urged him to _just try it, it's great. '_ He wasn't bothered when so-called friends called him a sissy and worse for not taking part in their drug-induced _parties'_   Luckily, he had other, firm friends, who felt the same way he did, but even without their support, if Blair didn't want to do something, he didn't do it.

He'd seen a lot of that sort of peer pressure to conform to the crowd when he was a child. Although his mother, Naomi, had been in communes and groups that had  indulged in what, at that time and place, was accepted as okay, although illegal - she had never let anyone get near  her son with any kind of narcotic.  Blair knew, because she'd told him, that she had smoked pot when she was young, but never around him. 

Going to College at such a young age, he'd been subjected to a lot of pressure both emotionally and academically, but he'd never had to resort to taking anything even remotely in that line.   He'd seen it happen around campus, some boys and girls in his classes, older than him in years, but a lot less mature, had gone that route.  Blair had seen more than one young career blighted because of narcotics, even two young lives ended, because of their addiction.

 His throat tightened in remembered sadness - and horror - as he recalled finding the two young people in the room they had shared off campus. 

 Gary and Melissa.

The young couple had grown up in the same neighbourhood; fallen in love in High School, planned to get married; having a future together. They were inseparable. They had also taken the same anthropology classes, which was where Blair had met them, and hadn't seemed to mind that the younger student left them behind academically. Gary had stood by him on more than one occasion when some bullies at the University had taken exception to Blair's high marks and threatened him with bodily harm. Melissa had also been very supportive, and the couple had joked that at least they would be able to tell their kids that they'd known the great Professor Sandburg before he was a famous Anthropologist.  Needless to say, Blair had adored them both.

Blair had been worried when the two hadn't turned up for any of the classes that particular day.  He'd known they had experimented with drugs, but hadn't seen any signs of really hard addiction.  So it was a total shock to find them, lying together on the floor of their room, hands clasped as though just sleeping, but the ravages of the drug overdose had been all too evident.

 All the promise of a good future for them - dead as they were - at twenty years of age.

So, Blair did not take drugs, not consciously at any rate. He had, however, eaten and drank some unknown concoctions when he'd been living with remote tribes, things that had made him feel light-headed, and not in control, and ultimately very sick. He'd never wanted to try them again.  It had just been part of his experiences of tribal living.

 Trouble was, he would put money on the fact that a lot of the people in this building, both civilians and cops wouldn't believe that.

Still, Jim seemed to believe he was okay, or he wouldn't have gone to this much trouble to get him an observer's pass.  Blair had been a bit shocked - not to mention thrilled to his very bones - when Jim had called him his _partner_ on the Bridge after the Switchman had been taken into custody.  Although Jim had since told him in no uncertain terms that the word _partner_ should never be used around the Police Station.

Seeing all those tall, muscular cops, Blair thought he understood - this was peer pressure of a different kind. 

 Man, that Captain Banks, was a hard nut to crack.

 Who would've thought he wouldn't go for that thin-blue-line that Blair had put such faith in.

He'd been positive that would work.

Oh well!  As long as he could get to ride with Jim Ellison, see him doing what he did so well ... maybe even be able to help him, that was all that really mattered. 

 A loud sound startled him from his contemplation of the running water.

 That had sounded like … like a gunshot...

 Surely not.  He hadn't been in this building for very long, but he surmised that gunshots wouldn't be the normal thing to hear.

Easing the door open, with a  caution he didn't at first understand, Blair was horrified to see the big detective who'd demanded his video film after the Switchman had been arrested, being supported by two blue-shirted policemen. He was obviously in great pain, and blood stained one leg of his pants.

Listening to the hard words of the man holding a very large gun, Blair stared in shock, until the group moved out of his sight down the corridor.  He tensed as he saw another armed man striding towards the bathroom.

Closing the door as quietly as he could, Blair made for the nearest stall. Pushing his back to one wall, he braced his feet against the other, thankful that the stall was no wider.

He had a feeling that  what the cops thought of him, wasn't going to be big on the agenda right now.

Holding his breath, he waited....

~~~~~~~~~~~

Blair ran down the corridor, his heart racing.  The terrorists seemed to be everywhere.  He had seen more violence in the last half hour inside a modern building than he would have thought possible.

He'd dished it out too.  God, the way that man had just lain there, the vending machine on top of him, Blair had been almost as stunned as his victim.

So far, he'd taken down two armed men, even though both times had been accidental.  

He wondered where Ellison was.  He hadn't seen the tall detective since they'd parted outside the Restroom in what seemed days ago.

 Was he one of the hostages?  God, he hoped not.   If Ellison was on the loose, maybe they had a chance of getting out of here alive.

 He didn't question the faith he felt that the fledging Sentinel would be able to help, he just knew deep in his heart that if anyone could get all these people to safety - Ellison was the man to do it.

In the meantime, he had to keep ahead of the searching terrorists; if he could find a way out, he might be able to hook up with Ellison - or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

In any event, Blair wanted out of here.  He was scared ... really scared.    If this was a typical day at the Police Station maybe he would have to change his mind about riding along - but if he didn't, how would he be able to study his Sentinel?

Hearing the sound of men talking, Blair dodged down another corridor and found an unlocked door, which he lost no time in opening.

Closing it quietly behind him, he leaned against the wood in relief as he heard the men pass by.

He had to get out of here, he was getting freaked - he gave a muffled, almost hysterical laugh.  What did he mean _getting_ freaked.  He WAS freaked out already.  Guns, shooting, blood leaking from people he had met.  This wasn't how he'd envisaged his first day of official Sentinel watching.

Pacing across to the window, he saw the window-cleaning cradle a floor below him.

That was a way out - piece of cake - except for the fact he didn't like heights, they made him dizzy, and the window was a sealed unit.

The chair he hurled at the window shattered against the double-glazed glass.

Now determined to break out, Blair spotted the heavy globe on a stand and hefted it - this should do it.

Hurling it at the window, the glass shattered in a satisfying, but terrifying loud crack.

Brushing the bits of glass off the sill with the sleeve of his jacket, Blair climbed out of the window, trying not to look too far down.

Taking deep breaths, he muttered; "Picture yourself there ... picture yourself there ..." then let go.  He hit the cradle with a hard thud, banging his arm against the metal railing.

Getting to his feet was hard, his legs were shaking so much; then his fear of heights was forgotten as he looked up and saw the heads and shoulders of armed gunmen silhouetted against the grey sky.  Shots rang out and Blair yelled as he felt something tear through his sleeve. He crouched on the floor as the cradle rocked dangerously.  The shooting stopped for an instant and Blair found a bullet hole in his jacket.  He didn't feel anything yet, so maybe he wasn't wounded badly, or even at all.

Scrambling towards the wheel to try and get the cradle started on its downward journey, Blair let out another yell of fear when shots rang out and his fragile escape vessel started to drop as the gunman took out the pulley wheel which controlled the device to raise and lower the window-washing cradle.

It felt as though he fell forever, but after only a few seconds, the cradle jerked to a halt. Almost afraid to look, Blair scrambled to his feet and turned towards the building to see where he was... maybe he could get back in and find a way down.

That idea was knocked straight out of his head as he saw two, black-garbed men, big guns levelled at his head, standing in the open window.

Groaning, Blair raised his hands to his shoulders in surrender and leant weakly against the wall of the building.

Looks like his bid for freedom was over...

He was just as much a prisoner as all the cops and civilians in the building.

And just as terrified...

 

(c) Dusty Tyree 2005

19th March 2005

 


End file.
